The Shadow and Shiwan Kahn
by rstorey1
Summary: Story pursues an alternate version of the rivalry between "The Shadow" and Shiwan Kahn. Please R&R. -Mistress Gina
1. The capture of Shiwan Kahn

**Shiwan**

**Chap 01**

Main Characters and Word Definitions

The Shadow / Cranston The same person, two different names

Shiwan Kahn Cranston's long-time rival

_ki_ Universal energy. Also called "chi" in Chinese.

mentaph One who is gifted to focus this _ki_ energy into a weapon, or to heal, or for other purposes both good and evil.

poniard A small dagger with a slim blade that is triangular or square at its cross section

Shiwan's green eyes were unusual for his dark complexion, as was his bleached-orange-blonde and brittle-looking hair framing his perpetually tanned face. With the exception of one missing light-brown and iridescent sea-green wing lost in a bloody battle with the Shadow ten years ago, some might consider him attractive. However the Shadow knew of his dark vengeance– he alone knew of Shiwan's true nature and his malevolent intentions forever burned on his mind after the loss of his wing. Although it was _truly _an accident, Shiwan was fueled by a venomous rage that poisoned his soul with hatred. He remained intent that the Shadow should endure twice the pain and anguish he mistakenly believed his enemy had caused him.

However now, Shiwan's very existence balanced on the Shadow's mercy. As he dangled from the cliff, hanging on a jutting stone, he knew he could not hold on for much longer. And with one wing, he knew he could no longer fly. The sharp stone pressed into the bones of his fingers, and he began to slip, "Please don't let me die like this, I can't hold on…" tears of fear streamed down his face.

For some unknown reason, out of pity, or not wanting to destroy Shiwan's rare power, the Shadow fiercely hoisted him by one arm up to safety, thinking, "Damn, I'm getting soft."

With both feet now firmly on the ground, Shiwan's knees collapsed and he fell to all fours, panting rapidly. Catching his breath, he eyed his savior and gasped, "You saved me?" in disbelief.

"Yes…I suppose I did," the shadow mused, rubbing his chin, "and now as I understand, your honor dictates that you're _bound_ to me as my servant.

Holding his breath for one moment, Shiwan breathed in regret, "yes, this is so" in barely audible speech,

"What?" and he yanked the mentaph to his feet, "What did you say,"

"Yes,"

"Yes what?" the shadow had to hear it fully spoken.

"Yes, I am your….servant," lowering his eyes.

Again the Shadow pulled him to a stand next to him. Fear filled the green eyes once more, and he retreated a step backwards. In a moment of uncertainty, he unconsciously allowed the Shadow entrance into his mind. Images from Shiwan's mind flooded into the Shadow's consciousness… not just images but also emotions and intent… most prominently at this moment, the intent for suicide and a preference to throw oneself from the cliff behind them instead of servitude to his enemy. "Oh no you don't... you're mine!" He grabbed hold of one flexing bicep.

Shiwan seemed as though he might hyperventilate, "your servant... _not _your slave, and it's only _temporary_… one month" he sighed in apparent defeat.

"Really?" not believing his conniving enemy.

Violently shaking his arm free, Shiwan narrowed his eyes with his innate fiery fury.

Coercing his new servant into the plane, he forcefully threw Shiwan into the cargo hold.

"Ha!" the Shadow's cohort Nelly laughed, "Look at what the cat dragged in," and he turned to mock Shiwan in his defeat, "How's it going, one-wing?"

Shiwan scoffed at the taunts, tensely tightening his one remaining wing trembled as it pressed snugly against his back.

"Let me… talk to him," and as the shadow closed the door to the cargo hold behind him,  
Shiwan's green eyes lit up in fear and uncertainty. The shadow opted to change his approach, "You're hurt," reaching out a hand to brush against Shiwan's injured brow, however he quickly pulled away, "Alright then… not very friendly are we," still, he tossed his rival a clean napkin that Shiwan reluctantly accepted to gently pat away the drying blood from the wound above his left eye.

Over the years, he had seen Shiwan's power increase exponentially. With each battle, he only became stronger. Previously there were more than a few opportunities to destroy the younger mentaph, however, Shiwan had reached such a level of strength that he was unsure, if given the chance, that he could overcome him. _Maybe he could still be turned from the path he's chosen,_ and he shook his head with a guiltily double-take as he caught himself staring in contemplation at his enemy. _What am I thinking_, he admonished himself, _I hate him_. _He's beyond evil. He deserves punishment and servitude_, and settling his mind on the most appropriate word for his enemy, _He's an abomination_.

Shiwan observed the rippling bands of uncertainty pulsing around the Shadow's aura, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. However, when he saw the aura change from an uncertain green to the seething red of anger he became fearful again.

Shiwan's bright green eyes suddenly flicked at him, conveying a sharp sting of power, "What do you _want _of me?" he whispered, eyes unwaveringly staring, daring him to act. Still, there was fear behind the headstrong gaze.

The Shadow again yanked him to his feet, and spoke into his face, an inch away, "Whatever_ I_ want," and he pushed him away.

Shiwan was truly afraid, his long, straw-colored bleached hair falling in front of his face,_ Damnit, how could I let this happen!_

"How?" Shadow read his thoughts.

Green eyes lit up in fear. _How could I be so clumsy to open my mind to… him?_ and he now doubly-ensured that his thoughts were safely locked inside his head.

_Bringing Shiwan back to my homebase will be tricky_, however he knew that blindfolding his rival's eyes would suppress his power. The Shadow knew that with his eyes hidden, Shiwan couldn't control anyone's thoughts, nor could he use his telekinetic powers– a vulnerability that he had used to his advantage more than once. Even still, as a precaution the Shadow locked his rival's hands behind his back with cuffs made of pure ki. _He won't be able to weasel his way out of these, but he'll try… he'll definitely try…_

True to his predictions, Shiwan violently struggled against the restraints until he was exhausted and panting.

Smiling contentedly at his handiwork, the Shadow hoisted the cuffs on a hook high above their heads, so that at around 5'7", Shiwan had to balance on his toes with his arms stretched uncomfortably above him.

"Frisk him," Shadow ordered his burly cohort Nelly who briskly followed his boss's instructions.

"I _told _you, I don't _have_ any weapons," Shiwan's voice expressing a _'how dare you accuse me'_ sentiment.

Finally patting down his legs, Nelly stuck his fingers into the tops of Shiwan's brown boots and exclaimed, "Ha! Looky here," before revealing a hidden silver knife, glinting in the fluorescent lights.

"No weapons, huh?" and yanking the blindfold down so it appeared as a bandana knotted around his rival's neck, the Shadow waved the polished blade an inch from the plotting green eyes, the discovery only confirming his distrust of the cunning mentaph.

Averting his eyes as the weapon revealed his deceit, the cuffs were unhooked and he was gruffly tossed into a small cell, the entrance soon obstructed by a powerful _ki_ shield. Regaining his stance, he stared at his enemy who smiled at his defeat and imprisonment.

"What do you _want_ from me?" Shiwan repeated, speaking through his teeth in fury, his hands still cuffed together behind him.

"What do I _want_?" Cranston echoed his question, "Oh…nothing really," and suddenly raising his voice, "Just to make sure that justice is done!" and at his last word, the ceiling above Shiwan began to slowly lower, it's final destination being the floor. The Shadow could not suppress a smile as he imagined his enemy's fate: the ceiling lowering to slowly snap every bone in his body, before those terrible green eyes finally popped out of his skull as his form was completely crushed into a bloody mess. Vividly picturing his enemy's just fate, the Shadow broke fully into his trademark laugh.

With the hideous laughter resounding in his ears, Shiwan's eyes actually _did_ bulge from his head in utmost terror and fear as the Shadow projected the harrowing images of death into his enemy's mind.

No sooner had the green eyes widened, and in a moment his head touched the ceiling. Panicking, he focused an immense ball of _ki_ in his eyes and let loose his power at the shielding– it shuttered, but held fast.

"Ah!" and after the ineffectual attack, he was now forced to crouch below the lowering ceiling.

"Stop it," he shrieked and his back was now flat against the ceiling, and in a moment, he had managed to turn over face-up with ceiling pressing down on him. Forced to turn his head to one side, his chest pressed against the suffocating boards. He exhaled, but as though he were coiled inside a boa constrictor, he found he could not inhale again with it pressing ever downwards upon his lungs. However, he still managed to cry out in desperation, "Don't do this. Please don't do this, don't kill me like this! Shadow! Please don't. Aaahhh!", and at the _last moment_ before his ribs would have shattered and punctured his lungs, the ceiling mercifully stopped its decent. However it did not rise again and Shiwan remained pinned beneath it, gasping for each breath. Kneeling down to regard his prone rival, the Shadow could not help but laugh at his predicament, "Look at you _now_… not so cocky anymore,_ are_ you?" and after a minute or so of reveling in his enemy's gasping pain, he released the ceiling to quickly rise to its former level.

Filling his lungs with precious air, Shiwan Slowly standing again and brushing himself off to regain some sort of composure, Shiwan's hair again obscured his face as though in shame.

"I bet you want those cuffs off, don't you?"

Green eyes momentarily shone with distrust and skeptical hope.

"Turn around and put your hands through these holes," pointing toward two small circular openings that had appeared in the shielding, "And if you decide to try anything, I'll just close the holes to cut your hands off," the warning ensuring that Shiwan abode by his instructions.

With the cuffs released, the younger mentaph massaged his sore wrists, each circled with a reddening ring. Rage quickly filled his mind, _How dare he play with my life! If he wants to kill me, then kill me– don't torture me! _and the adrenaline that a moment ago fuelled fear, now fuelled fury, "You sick _fuck_!" he seethed, dripping with hatred, and his words soon spilled over into Pomanian swears that he knew so well.

The Shadow laughed at his enemy's futile fury, "Shut up," he said flatly, "You are nothing now,"

With his hands coiling into fists, Shiwan threw himself at his rival, however his attack was of course stayed by the _ki_ shield that bounced him backwards and to the floor. Still, he rose again and while screaming like a banshee, he pounded his fists on the shield, flinging volley after volley of _increasingly_ powerful _ki_ at the shield. With this having no effect on the barrier, he concentrated his power into a kamé-ball. Disregarding the danger to himself in the enclosed cell, he tossed it at the shield.

The Shadow's shield shattered at the ferocity of the attack, and his vision of the green-eyed mentaph was momentarily obscured by dust and insulation erupting from the broken walls and ceiling. When the dust particles cleared, the Shadow cautiously lowered his arms protecting his head to reveal the collapsed form of his enemy, laying in a heap of tan-colored clothing, ruffled brown-and-green feathers and covered in white dust. Rolling his eyes at Shiwan's crazy and suicidal move, he carefully stepped over a ruined slab of sheet-rock to roughly roll over his enemy's form to face-up.

Exhaling in strange relief, Shiwan's face and body seemed to be intact; the only visible wound, beside the old one on his brow, was a thin trail of blood streaming from his nose.

Cranston sensed the approach of his enemy's consciousness before Shiwan began a violent coughing spell to clear the dust in his lungs.

With unknown motivation, he yanked his rival to a sitting position so he could better cough the filaments from his lungs. However, in a moment, he rubbed his head in confusion at this action, appalled at his own compassion toward his cruel rival, _Damnit, what I am I doing? _

Now sitting up, the coughing spasms soon subsided. Green eyes opened, and he staggered to his feet, his head dizzy and his limbs weak.

Cranston chuckled, "What were you trying to do? Kill us both? That was foolish."

Still choking on residual insulation dust, Shiwan spoke his thoughts aloud, "I… I can not be a prisoner. I'd rather die,"

"Yes, I see that. It _does_ seem like I have a little predicament here, don't I? Can't keep you in a cell, but I still like the idea of keeping you as my servant… but the biggest problem is I...don't…trust…you,"

"I am _not_ your servant,"

"Yes, yes. I know. It's only _temporary_, right?"

The green eyes, although greatly weakened by the self-inflicted blast, still managed to transmit a powerful evil-eye. Tightening his jaw with determination, both hands once again balled into fists, and his breathing quickened with renewed fury. "_Not_ temporary," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"What do you mean 'not temporary'?" the Shadow mocked his prisoner, "You mean it's permanent? Well… in that case…"

"Not temporary," Shiwan repeated in growing vehemence, "Not at all! Not _ever_!" and he dared to take a step toward his enemy, his mind awash with pride and headstrong resolve, "I will _never_ be your servant," the volume of his voice increasing exponentially with his anger, "Never! Notto _you._ Not to _anyone_!_ Never!_" and both hands were now chest high, with clear intent for another _ki_-attack.

Let's hope he's not up for another kamé blast, thought Cranston as he assumed a stance to ready himself for another attack.

Rage had blinded Shiwan's logic and he was unaware of his own depleted power-level. His _ki_ was nearly exhausted _not only_ from the immense _ki_ needed to produce the kamé blast, _but also_ from the physical damage he suffered when the attack was fired in the enclosed cell– any _ki_-based attack would be ineffectual. Even so, he generated a ball of _ki_ that, at nearly three-feet in diameter, certainly _looked_ impressive, and the Shadow shielded himself accordingly. However when Cranston realized that the _ki_-ball would produce little more than a gust of momentarily strong wind, he lowered his arms and allowed them to hang nonchalantly at his side.

Outraged at his rival's audacity, Shiwan screamed with effort as he launched the weak ball at its target, the counterforce of his exertion easily tossed him backwards and into the corner of the cell, his head smacking hard into the dusty wall with a crack.

The Shadow's trademark laugh echoed all around him as the _ki_-ball was effortlessly dispersed.

Exhausted and spent, the green-eyed mentaph rose once again onto unsteady thin legs. Drawing on some deep well of strength, he continued his pride-filled ranting, "Never! I will _never_ be your servant! Never!" and he launched another series of weak _ki_-balls, pitching one after another from his right hand, and the left, and back to the right again.

When Cranston deflected an attack with a simple flick of his fingers, Shiwan yanked out a handful of his own hair, and screamed repeatedly, "No! No! I will never be…" gasping, "_your_…," falling to his knees, he now whispered, "_…servant_," panting with such effort as though the air held no oxygen, _he was completely defeated by his own efforts!_

With hands on his hips, the Shadow approached his rival who was once again in the corner of the destroyed cell, "Are you done? You damaged my building, and you damaged yourself, so tell me.. are you done now?"

"Never… will I…be your…,"

"Yes, yes, I heard you already… you don't want to be my servant" and grabbing a handful of bleached-reddish-blonde hair, he forced his enemy to look up at him, "…. _But you are!_ You are my servant, Shiwan. You said it yourself,"

"No,"

"Yes, you did. No going back on it now. I'm tired of your little fits," and bending closer to speak directly into Shiwan's eyes, "I've _really_ had enough of your nonsense. You said it yourself…Repeated it in fact…,"

"No," Shiwan whispered and still kneeling before the Shadow, he covered his face with both hands, and slowly lowered his head to the floor, until his forehead touched the bottom of the dusty cell.

Looking down at his rival, Cranston saw his shoulders quake with emotion. Finally content that Shiwan may have resigned himself to his fate, he slapped _ki_-cuffs on his wrists, dragged him out of the basement, and threw him on a bed in one of the many guest rooms. Not that it mattered, however he ensured to lock the door– he hoped that the green-eyed mentaph was too defeated to even attempt escape or revenge.

As soon as Cranston awoke the next day, dressed and ate, he headed directly to his rival's given room in the East Wing of his expansive chateau. Unlocking the door revealed Shiwan asleep on the bed atop the made bed and still fully clothes. It appeared he had not moved from where he was tossed the night before.

Circling the bed, the Shadow observed the steady rise and fall of Shiwan's chest, and studying his relaxed face he thought, "Why must he always contort his face into these…expressions of rage? It's as though a demon is in his heart, and the very face of the demon is sometimes visible in battle, and his eyes… they very essence of the demon is always there, like he's always plotting something… nasty. What is it with him? Is it just true evil? That's what it must be…but now? Now the demon is not there. His face is smooth and almost… innocent. And his _ki_? His _ki_ has almost returned to its full power level. Unbelievable. Such a shame. Such a rare, rare power.

The green eyes suddenly opened fully, although his body gave no sign that he was about to awaken. And just as suddenly, and as unnaturally, he sat upright, his back as straight as a board. Once more, both of his legs squarely swung around the side of the bed furthest from Cranston, and he was instantly on his feet. Spinning on his heel, he quickly turned to face the Shadow, his eyes burning with mischievous intent.

Cranston couldn't help but smile at this unusual rise to consciousness… it was _more _than unnatural, it was almost like he was a machine, "Well, I see you're awake now. Are you hungry? You must be after all the _ki_ you wasted yesterday," he was neither surprised nor offended by Shiwan's lack of response, "Come on, follow me," and much to his delight, he was closely trailed down the main staircase, and to the kitchen.

A large pot of cinnamon oatmeal was steaming on the stove, occasionally stirred by the matronly cook so as not to burn. When the cook turned to greet Master Cranston, the jovial smile faded from her face, and her mouth twisted into horror as she witnessed Shiwan's fluorescent-green catlike eyes. Her oatmeal encrusted wooden spoon fell clattering to the tile floor as she moved to attempt a slow and clumsy escape.

"Gretta," Cranston called to her in a reassuring tone, "It's alright. It's okay, He won't hurt you…,"

"What do you mean it's okay? He's… he's...," she stutter as she pointed an accusatory finger at the younger mentaph who stared expressionlessly in her general direction, "he's the devil," she hissed as though the words were painful to speak, "I _know_ he's the devil! It's his eyes… oh God, his _eyes_…," and tears of genuine fear streamed down her heavy and doughy cheeks as she retreated another step backwards.

Clapping his hands to redirect her attention, Cranston offered, "Now, how about some breakfast," and the cook busied herself to scoop out some oatmeal and pour a cup of coffee for her employer.

"…_And_ for our guest," Cranston raised an eyebrow, and the cook scowled and reluctantly dropped the food and coffee for Shiwan Kahn, who was now sat stiffly at the wooden kitchen table. Much to Cranston's surprise, his rival ate his breakfast without hesitation.

Cranston was busily engineering a new vehicle in his custom-built hanger, fully equipped with weapons and the latest military accoutrements. Seated at a comfortable distance from him, yet still nearby in the spacious hanger, Shiwan had assumed the lotus position, and with eyes closed, was lost in apparent meditation.

At noon, The Shadow's cohort Nelly met him in the hanger, "Well, looky here," he chucked and clapped the younger mentaph on the back.

Green eyes shot open as Shiwan was rousted from his thoughts. However, in an out-of-character lack of action, he sighed and closed his eyes once again.

"He giving you a hard time," waving one hand at Shiwan, and eating what remained of an apple with the other hand.

"Not today," and Cranston returned to his handiwork.

"Why haven't you blindfolded him? Why isn't he in that little prison-cell you have in your basement,"

"Good call, Nelly, and that actually was my plan for him, but he's…," _how shall I explain what happened yesterday_, "…not a good prisoner,"

"I see. Still should blindfold 'im. Just in case. Or at _least_ some sunglasses. He's a freak of nature with those eyes of his,"

Cranston stopped his work in contemplation, "That, my friend, is an excellent idea," and calling to his new servant, "hey little Poniard,"

The green eyes flashed open once again.

"Yes you. Come here," the Shadow tested his new authority, however one hand remained poised on his hip, ready to draw the gun hidden in his waistband. Much to his delight, Shiwan stood and silently approached him with steady footsteps. Sighing, the Cranston thought to himself, _Hope I won't have to use my .45_, and at that thought, Shiwan suddenly stopped his approach. Damnit, he heard my thoughts. Shiwan, do you hear me,

Of course, came the unspoken reply, although his face betrayed no such cognition.

Unaware of the telepathic conversation, Nelly witnessed a long silence and the sudden and unusual stoppage of their strange enemy, "What's he doing? Watch out, he's _always_ up to something… you know that,"

"Not this time," Cranston reassured him, and Shiwan once again resumed his approach to stand near the large aircraft he was working on..

"Sorry. Still don't believe 'im," Nelly squinted with contempt at the younger mentaph, "You shouldn't either, if you don't mind me saying. I don't trust 'im," Nelly lit a Marlboro Red.

"Shiwan, do you know what's wrong with this… right here," pointing to the part on the airplane engine he had been working on for quite some time.

Reaching far into the engine, their rival deftly used his fingers to manipulate a tiny wire, and welded it to another wire using his own green _ki_. Retrieving an oil-covered hand, he nodded to the Shadow who started up the engine without fail.

Nelly exhaled a large cloud of smoke, "Unbelievable,"

**Chapter TWO has just been posted, too!**

**Author's Note:** How long do you think Shiwan can keep up this act?  
I don't think he can keep it up for too much longer. Also, Cranston has shown_ enormous _restraint so far by _not _reciprocating all of his rival's numerous attacks towards him.   
Still, _everyone_ has their limits. He might have to use his .45-caliber afterall… to finally end the career of Shiwan Kahn… Whatever.

Shiwan, Chapter One, Page 10


	2. Purbah the Poniard

**Shiwan,  
Chap 02**

One week later.

Shiwan remained obedient. Obedient_ and_ silent. Still, it was plain to Cranston, that the gears in his mind were always turning– turning and plotting, and as such, he remained ever-vigilant to any subtle inclinations toward action.

Cranston awoke to reveal the supernatural eyes of his enemy, with his favorite weapon, the bronze poniard, in his hand and ready to strike. He immediately sat up and the Poniard was driven into the spot of the pillow where his head once rested. Drawing the .45 from beneath the mattress, he expertly aimed and discharged the weapon, lighting up the room.

Shiwan staggered backwards and away from the deafening discharge. Dropping his weapon, one hand clutched at his chest.

As the lights were turned on, Cranston viewed…. Nothing. The gun was in his hand, and he felt the barrel, and sensed no heat nor smelled no gun powder.

Storming into the hallway and to his rival's room, two doors down, his hand shook with anger and he unlocked the deadbolt. Turning the lights to their full brightness, revealed his enemy slowing sitting up and sleepily blinking against the sudden light.

Brandishing his gun, he grabbed Shiwan's hair at the base of his neck. Reflexively, the younger mentaph's shoulders tightened against his hold, but he did not resist.

"Don't play innocent. What have you done?" and Cranston shoved the gun into his rival's chin.

Still blinking with surprise, "_Done_? I've done nothing but rest. You're paranoid,"

Fingers dug deeply into the flesh behind his neck, pulling the two tendons together with a rush of pain. As such, Shiwan hissed, his fangs descended and a second, forked, black, snake-like tongue flickered out as though in attempt to sense things supernatural.

"Your mouth… it is like a serpent! You have the tongue of a snake…"

"Actually, I have two tongues," Shiwan explained nonchalantly, "One's like yours and underneath is the second one you're calling a serpent tongue. See?" and he kas though he were proud of these features,

Cranston's mind filled with an epiphany. He had always thought that the detestable eyes of his enemy were like those of a cat… but _now _he realized the _true_ nature of those horrid eyes– they were the bright green eyes of a snake, and his traditional upbringing resurfaced as he thought, _A serpent_? _Truly a sign of the devil, _and then aloud, "You…" and the Shadow's face contorted with hatred, "are an abomination…," and he continued, "What.. are.. you.. _really_?" enunciating each word, "I can see _beneath_ your face,"

And when the Shadow gruffly released his enemy, the fangs and black-tongue were withdrawn. Shiwan smiled, "I am what I am...," not answering the question asked of him.

"And what is _that _exactly?" Cranston scowled in disgust.

"..I am half Pomanian, _this_ I know,"

"..and what of the other half,"

Shiwan lowered his eyes momentarily, "This I do _not_ know…"

"Liar. You _know_ what you are,"

"Please _tell _me then, my sage," Shiwan bowed with mock worship.

"_You_ are the son of the _devil himself_!" Cranston yelled, pointing an accusatory finger

"And _why_ do I deserve such a place in your heart,"

Cranston's fists shook, but he restrained himself from striking. He calmed slightly, "_Why_?" and he knew he must calm himself. He digressed to another topic– to the temporary ownership of his enemy's life, "You seem to like to forget, waving the same finger, "That _you_ are my _servant_, and _you_… are not to have any weapons," and aiming the .45 at his rival's neck, he lowered his voice, "Where_ is_ that_ dagger _of yours?"

"What…dagger?"

"Now I _know_ you lie! My dream… Give me the dagger, serpent servant,"

"Serpent servant?" Shiwan repeated to himself quietly, raising one eyebrow at Cranston, whom he more and more considered as a definitive lunatic.

Cocking the trigger of his weapon, "Give me your knife! I saw your intent in my dream."

Shiwan cringed, sensing that he was in true danger, and in a moment, revealed a one-and-a-half foot knife he had ki-cloaked invisibly at his side.

Yanking it from his rival's hand, he brandished both the knife and the gun.

Now truly without any hidden defenses, Shiwan was _terrified_. Retreating a pace, the back of his knees met the bed.

"You meant to kill me," Cranston fumed and repeated, "You mean to kill me with this knife,"

"I meant only to defend myself if I had to…"

"Liar," and he approached his enemy, only to ki-cuff one of his wrists to the nearby brass bed-knob.

Now restrained and off-balance, Shiwan fell onto his knees, "Cranston," his voice sounding high and pleading, "I have done _nothing_ during the past week to deserve such treatment. My crimes are in your mind,"

The words 'your mind' prompted an idea into Cranston's consciousness, he used the hilt of the bronze dagger to strike a hard blow to Shiwan's temple.

His world full of pain and dizziness, the younger mentaph slid into a sit, resting his bleeding head against the side of the bed, "No…," and he trailed off to dark unconsciousness.

Studying the carved human-like features of the knife in detail, Cranston knew it to be ancient and powerful. At the end of the hilt was a ball in which the features of the Poniard's face were carved, its eyes were closed and strands of neatly braided hair were arranged around its shoulders. Two arms, with several bronze bangles encircling each tiny wrist, were visible as they crossed tightly around the hilt. Its carved human form composed the six-inch hilt. However, where there should be legs, was a razor-sharp, foot-long poniard-blade, with an ever-sharpened point.

Casting a dismissive glance at his unconscious rival, Cranston dead-bolted the door and retreated to the silence of his chambers.

With exhaustion, he collapsed on his own bed, after placing the knife on a pillow next to him. Hearing a buzzing rush of ki-wind, he witnessed a golden glow emanating from the knife. Much to his extreme amazement, what was a bronze dagger a moment ago, has metamorphosed into a supernatural being– its face and hands appeared the exact color of gold and hair of the same timbre– metallic and shiny, as though his face were painted, but Cranston knew it wasn't. Cinched about his waist with a metallic-green sash, his wrap-around waistcoat fell just above his knees, with loose-fitting golden-cloth pants visible beneath, and gold shoes that curved to a point.

As the supernatural creature's yellow-gold eyes lifted to meet his, Cranston was frightened for a moment. However, when it kneeled before him on one bended knee and lowered its eyes in submission. Approaching the being with authority he demanded, "Who_ are_ you?" and paused for a moment before adding, "_What _are you?"

"You know me, although you have never seen me in _this_ form. I am Phurba, your Poniard…"

"Poniard? A knife?" and shaking his head in disbelief, "You are _not _a knife! There is trickery here…," and his eyes searched for someone or something ready to attack.

"No, master," the golden figure refocused his attention, "I _am_ your poniard, your servant…," and it rose to approach him, arms outstretched with the clear intention to embrace.

"Stay back! Stop!" Cranston ordered, his voice shaking, and the poniard instantly obeyed, freezing his approach, one foot still in front of the other, and it bowed low in submission.

"Poniard, is it?" Cranston whispered.

"Yes, you may call me as such," and he straightened from his bow. Lifting his eyes, he took another step forward,"

"I said _stop_!" and again it stopped… for a moment… before again resuming its approach, and with outstretched arms, it embraced it master, planting a gentle kiss of adoration on his cheek.

Cranston reciprocated the embrace just out of curiosity, feeling hard unnatural flesh on the poniard's back beneath its clothing, as though its back were made of metal. However the touch of its lips was soft, as though some parts of its anatomy were made of metal, while others were composed of humanlike flesh.

"Poniard," called a nearby voice with an authoritarian timbre. Poniard released Cranton and whirled around to meet the voice of Master Heong, "Phurna Pon-_yard_! The Master enunciated, and it immediately kneeled where it stood, lowering its head.

"Master Heong," gasped Cranston at his old teacher's sudden appearance. Granted, though the old master's appearance was sudden, it was hardly unusual– he had some uncanny way of showing-up at the most inopportune times.

"Yes, yes, student…." He casually approached his former pupil, "I see Poniard has revealed himself to you,"

"You knew Shiwan's knife could assume a human form?"

"Shiwan? Yes, yes, he_ is_ a tricky one…," and then addressing the golden form kneeling head-down before him, "Pon-_yard_. Poniard stand. Poniard come," and he pointed to the spot on the ground next to him.

The Poniard hung his head low and humbly obeyed his old master's words.

"You see, Shadow, you must _show_ him that _you_ are the master, or he _will_ try to disobey you," and he stroked the Poniards golden hair, as though he were his son.

That night, Cranston instructed the Poniard to sit next to him to watch the television news. It was critical to stay on top of current events, and he was curious to see if the Poniard could comprehend such things. However, the Poniard appeared uninterested in the flickering television. Disappointed and exhausted after the long day, Cranston dosed off with his hand supporting his chin.

After a few moments of rest, he suddenly awoke to the distant, yet loud, crash of metal pans from downstairs, and he was instantly on his feet to investigate what he believed to be another one of Shiwan's attempts at defiance.

Entering the kitchen, he witnessed the golden form of the Poniard standing guiltily amidst several pots that had just fallen to the kitchen floor, "Poniard!" and it turned toward Cranston's voice,. However, it laughed and quickly dashed away to exit to the outside garden. Jumping over a bush, it accelerated into a strong and steady, jogging run.

"Hey!" and Cranston was immediately after the golden streak of its receding form.

Coming on top of it near the fountain, he grabbed its shoulder and whirled it around so that it lost its balance and tumbled to the ground. Curiously cocking its head to one side, it looked up at him, sitting unnaturally with its legs straight out in a 'V", and its gold-painted mouth turned up into a defiant smile.

Fuming with anger, Cranston struck its face while admonishing, "Poniard, no! Stand up!"

Its smile instantly faded and it placed a hand on its slapped golden cheek,   
"Poniard, _yes!_" it defied his order with a hiss.

Growling in outrage, Cranston chopped at its neck with the side of his hand– a move he thought would reduce his victim to gasping breaths. However, it was _Cranston_ who gasped as he discovered that in contrast to the Poniard's soft, fleshy face, its throat was as hard as metal. His attack and had little effect except to bruise his hand. Still, he yanked the Poniard to its feet so that its golden eyes met his green eyes.

Opting to try to read its mind, Cranston sensed its fear. Fear and something else…. _headstrong will!_ As Master Heong had warned, Cranston must replace the _Poniard's_ will with _his_ will. Recalling the crackly echo of his Master Heong's words spoken earlier that day as he described the creation of the Poniard. The old master explained that it was not he who created the weapon, is was forged by _his_ Master's master, known as the 'Grand Master'

"_Although it does not consciously know it, domination is truly what it needs, or it _will_ leave to search out a stronger master who could dominate it and drive it to its _full _potential– one who would drive it into the hearts of its master's enemies._ That's _why it was created– to be ruled by a powerful master, and to be his weapon of domination. This was the golden poniards destiny._

_That's why long ago its creator drew from his _own_ life-force, to give the Poniard its own spirit– to give it a _soul_. As it possessed its own soul, it also had _its own will_! Your will_ must_ be stronger than its own will, and it _will_ test you! As a thinking and conscious weapon– it still needs to be taught. Still, like a child, it needed direction, it needed to be ruled._

_But you must know you cannot rule it with brute force, nor with cruelty or torture. You must dominate it with your own strength of will!"_

As Cranston rubbed the knuckles that just collided with the childish Poniard's face, a drop of red blood had formed on its lip from the punishment. It was genuinely frightened, and such, it fell to its knees in submission, whimpering at the subtle pain from its lip and muttering profuse apologies.

"Return," and Cranston held out his hand, "Return to my hand,"

"Poniard,_ return!_" the Shadow repeated, and the Poniard instantly changed its apologetic demeanor into a snarl, baring its teeth in defiance.

Inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, he opted to convey his intent to the golden being without words. _Poniard, please?_ he thought, and it reluctantly obeyed, morphing its humanlike form into the solid shape of a foot-and-a-half long bronze knife. Quickly, it hovered through the air to return to Cranston's extended hand. "Good, Poniard. Now, _stay_," exhaling in relief, he sheathed the rebellious and willful weapon at his hip. The sheath holding the knife was made of ancient and power ki– the ki of Master Heong's Master's Master, his Grand-Master as it were. Strapped into the powerful restraint, the Poniard was subdued, yet relaxed and secure. While in its custom made ki-sheath, it seemed to immediately diminish its ki and sink into a trancelike sleep– awaiting its next instruction.

This sheath was where it had spent most of the past 100 years. It had mostly been used when necessary, and only learned during the time it was conscious. So, for only _ten_ of the past one-hundred years was it awake. As such, it acted like a child the age of ten, yet appeared as a small, full-grown man– albeit a man with glittering gold skin, hair and eyes. Long ago, the old Grand-master had gone to great lengths and expense to clothe it with threads made of pliable 24-karat gold, and had its hair weaved and braided with such finery as well. As though it were his son, the Grand-master had also taken care to instruct the Poniard in the traditional marital arts, as well as fine-tuning the metamorphosis process from bronze-knife to its human form, a task it quickly mastered.

With the passage of the old Grand-master, his apprentice, Elder Heong, inherited the bronze Poniard. The Elder Heong was a cruel and vicious ki-master, intent on the domination of man. As such, the Poniard was instructed to destroy many bold warriors, and it gained a taste for lust and bloodshed. In time, it too passed from the Elder Heong to _his_ apprentice, Master Heong. With his gentle and conservative nature, Master Heong influenced the Poniard, schooled it in literature and mathematics. It was he who discovered the Poniard's innate intelligence in addition to its physical and mental prowess.

Finally, stolen from Master Heong by Shiwan Kahn two months ago, it also chose to reveal its humanlike form to the younger mentaph. However, Shiwan seemed to posses the same dark characteristics of the Elder Heong, as he was also cruel, vicious and intent on domination. However, Shiwan lacked self-control, and was barely able to control the rage clouding his mind. His soul was scarred with black vengeance toward the Shadow, with fiery rage fuelled by the accidental loss of his wing. Intent on revenge, Shiwan would attempt to drive the Poniard to feel his rage, and would surly aim the blade at his enemy.

The Poniard rested as well– awaiting its next instruction.

Shiwan, Chapter Two, Page 7


End file.
